


Parting Gift

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-31
Updated: 2004-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for series final!<br/>Angel performs one final duty for a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parting Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

PARTING GIFT

 

“Roger Wyndam-Pryce speaking.”

The cultured tones of the voice echoed from the receiver clutched in his hand, then silence fell as he struggled to find the words. The right words. To tell this man what he knew it was his duty to tell him.

Angel caught his breath.

There was no “right” way to tell a man such a thing. He thought of his own son. The struggle, the pain, the laughter and the love, woven into the tapestry of contradictions they called a relationship. Fathers and sons. How would he feel if someone was delivering this news to him?

A stab of pain cut through his chest. 

Gone.

A picture sprang to mind of a leather-clad linguist with an uncertain glance, offering his services to a cause that ultimately proved insurmountable for all of his human companions. 

Helping the helpless.

He sent the people he loved on a suicide mission. They should have talked one final time, but there was nothing left to say. (So much left to say.) Eternity captured in a single glance forever etched into his soul. 

They fought the dragon and won. Slew the beast. Made the world safe for democracy and the American way. But the only ones who rose triumphant from the ashes were two battered demons and a bewildered and broken god. For some inexplicable reason Angel wanted to laugh but it caught in his throat like a sob.

Gone.

It was his duty to make this call. A duty he failed to perform when Fred died. And with Gunn…well, there really wasn’t anyone left to call.

He located the overseas number among Wesley’s things, neatly written on a folded sheet of paper and stuffed in a drawer beneath an old pair of wire framed glasses that Angel hadn’t seen in years. He sat staring at the glasses for over an hour before he noticed the paper and realized its significance. He was fortunate to have found it since the number was unlisted, and he cringed at the thought of contacting Giles to ask if he knew how to get in touch with the man.

This was the least he could do for a teammate who had given so much. A teammate?

He sighed and bowed his head.

A good and faithful servant.

Angel’s throat grew dry.

“You don’t know me…I mean, we’ve never actually met, but I’m sure you know who I am…” He caught a breath that he didn’t really need and held it as a picture came to mind of a pompous, overbearing man with the power to erode years of hard-wrought confidence with a single word. It was difficult to realize he never actually met the real Wyndam-Pryce Sr. But from the skittish reaction of Wes around the cyborg and years of veiled comments about darkened cupboards, Angel had little doubt he knew the man as well as he ever wanted to. “I’m Angel. I’m sure you know that your son and I work together….”

Fathers and sons.

He never realized just how complex the jumble of emotions could be within such a relationship until Connor was born. Then nothing in his life was ever quite the same. The disappointment and pain Connor brought into his world was far outweighed by the love and pride he felt whenever he thought of his son.

Pride.

Maybe that was the one thing the elder watcher would understand. Something the vampire and the human both shared. A common ground on which to stand. Love born of pride if nothing else.

Wesley had grown into the kind of man any father would be proud to call son. Wyndam-Pryce Sr. deserved to know what sort of man his son had become. He deserved the chance to carry his son home to be laid to rest beneath England’s cool, green grass.

Yes, Angel would tell the man all that Wesley had accomplished. The many lives he’d saved. 

Wes would like that. Knowing his father could be proud of a son who fought to the bitter end to save the world. A valiant man who shed the last of his precious blood to rid the world of evil. 

Wasn’t that what the Watcher’s Council purported to believe in?

Hope stirred in the ancient vampire’s unbeating heart. A father’s pride was the final gift Angel could give his fallen companion. The goal of a lifetime. Yes, Wes could finally rest in peace knowing that in passing he achieved the recognition he sought with every breath throughout his life. His father’s admiration.

“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I’m sorry to inform you that your son has died. I want you to know, he died a hero. He fought the good…”

The solemn click of a receiver echoed in his ear.

 

The End


End file.
